


I Won't Walk on Water

by SomeoneToFallBackOn



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Friendship, Psychological Drama, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7536625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeoneToFallBackOn/pseuds/SomeoneToFallBackOn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan. Saviour, mother, daughter or none of the above. Just a lost little girl.<br/>Adjusting to life in Storybrooke had been easy when there's an evil to destroy, but in the calm, quiet inbetweens, it's not as peaceful as it may seem. A new story, set post season 5. Centred on Emma and her relationships. Including Charmings, Regina, Henry, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So this little story has been bugging me for too long now, so I have given in and decided to try writing it. It's basically going to be centred on Emma, and actually uncovering the issues of her past. I felt the show went too suddenly from not acknowledging her parents as such, to suddenly accepting them. So this story will be exploring the realities of Emma's walls and struggles to accept her family.
> 
> The story is set after the most recent series (5) and in canon up to then. Though not really including the cliffhangers of the finale.
> 
> CaptainSwan are canon, so that is there. But I have to admit he would get in the way in my story, so he won't really be in it to begin with.
> 
> SwanQueen...yes, I am holding true to the canon of the show...so their bond is there and their "friendship" with hints of more. Sticking 100% to how they are on the show. But who knows...could be endgame ;)
> 
> Mostly I just want to write a real story exploring Emma's fears, her past and her relationships.

It had been three weeks since the forray into the land of untold stories. The battles there had been resolved with surprising ease, even Belle had been restored to her waking self, and Mr. Gold was working tirelessly to win her back and earn the love and trust of not only her, but their unborn child. Storybrooke had returned to its subdued self and daily life had resumed for all its residents. The only change had been the loss of Hook, a loss that Emma bore with a stoic silence. It had not been death that separated them this time, but a choice. Hook had insisted he earn the title and trust which Emma bestowed upon him, and to do that, he must right old wrongs. He didn’t give much away beyond that. But simply stated that he needed to prove to her and to himself that he could truly be the man that she deserved. And so he had set sail on a borrowed boat, to places unknown, to settle scores untold. Emma’s insistence that he not go or that she accompany him had been stopped by a letter found in the early hours of a dawn, when she found her bed empty and realised that he had not given her the choice.

Emma had missed the subtle comfort she had unknowingly come to find in the pirate, the distraction from any or all other aspects of her life. And so since his departure, she had somehow found herself at a loss as to how to once again navigate the strange life she had found herself in. Henry was gradually growing up, demanding increasingly less of her time, content to branch out his social life to involve friends his own age, as well as burgeoning relationships as only a teenager can. Snow and David had settled into their blissful family routine, caring for their charming son and revelling in the chance to bask in their quiet family life, without imminent threat of attack to tear it apart. Without a common evil to defeat, a threat to their safety binding the townsfolk, the family together, Emma found herself strangely detached from those around her, as though, without the ardent fear of lives at stake, they didn’t know how to survive. Their communication was so centred on life or death situations, quests where the stakes were the highest they could be, where disaster and and despair lurked at every turn. Now, in the quiet peace of tranquility, Emma realised, that she had no idea how to just be, with her family. She trusted them implicitly to save her life, but in the mundane reality of the every day, she almost felt that she barely knew them at all.

Clutching the mug of hot chocolate to her cold hands, Emma Swan stared mindlessly into the steam that rose steadily. Her thoughts were lost in aimless reveries as she sat alone in the semi darkness of her small apartment. The house she and Hook had planned, the one that Henry had chosen, after everything that had happened, the darkness she had taken into herself, the darkness that place had seen, it had no longer felt like home to any of them. So instead, Emma found herself renting a small apartment, alone. Hook could have come, Henry should have come, but there was something that held Emma back, a small thorn in the happiness of the family she had created, an itch on the edge of her mind. So she had made her excuses, talked of them all getting settled back into Storybrooke and into normal routines before jumping into anything. She'd spoken of needing to find the right place for them all, so they would find other places until that spark of perfection could be found. She'd thought up a dozen reasons, excuses, avoidances; anything she had to do. 

Her home was simple, a small, two bedroom apartment, exposed brick and peeling paint. Henry, when he had first come to see the place had innocently drawn similarities between the apartment and his grandparents’, causing Emma a brief moment of disquiet, before shirking off the comments, not wanting to explore what that meant. However, for all the similarities in the two homes, Emma’s held none of the cosy kitsch of the other woman’s house. The accents of metal and glass, the muted greys of the sleek but comfortable furniture; there was a sense of minimalistic detachment, more like a hotel than a home. Whenever Henry visited, he couldn’t help being drawn back to the place where he had first met his mother. However, if closely inspected, the signs of her new life were there, if only in the smallest of ways. The second bedroom which held unmistakable signs of her teenage son, being the most prevalent.Since the loss of Robin, he had found himself needing to be with Regina, so the bedroom in the small apartment had barely been used, but the signs were still there. 

The only other items which would allow any outsider to discern who lived in the property were the photographs in frames on the end tables, shelves, bedside cabinets. There weren’t many and almost all were of Henry, or Emma and Henry together, just one of Emma and her mother was present, it was years old, from before the curse had broken. Henry had offered to take more pictures but Emma had brushed off the suggestion by changing the subject without his notice. Even when he had brought her a small stack of photographs, of Emma with her parents, with them all together, with her and her mother, somehow Emma had chosen not to frame them, not to display them. She had made her excuses, that she hadn’t got around to it, that she was busy with work, but still the only photograph she tolerated of her family outside Henry was the one old picture, Mary Margaret and Emma smiling over their mugs of hot chocolate in a brief respite of cheerful conversation. 

Emma sighed, noting how her fingers still felt icy around the warmth of the mug in her hands. She reluctantly set the drink back onto the marble countertop before going to check the thermostat. Clicking the dial up a few notches in hopes of breaking through the chill that settled in her apartment, the wind eeking through gaps in old window frames she had not yet got around to fixing. The boiler rumbled into action with a comforting growl before suddenly emitting loud clunking noises and puttering out. 

“Really?!” Emma frustratedly barked into the still emptiness. She huffed to herself, pouring the rest of her drink into the sink angrily, knowing she would more than likely regret that hasty action in barely five minutes. She resigned herself to the prospect of an early night, if only to keep warm. 

Pulling the covers tightly around herself, trying to keep in what little heat they provided, Emma stared blankly into the room, lit only by the solitary bedside lamp. Her fingers entwined themselves unconsciously into the threads of her baby blanket under her pillow as she lay curled on her side. A strange pang of sickness hit her as a vague pain throbbed through her chest. It was familiar and enough to make her close her eyes in an attempt to block it out, as her fingers coiled themselves more firmly into the fabric. She settled into an uneasy sleep to the sound of chilled breezes whispering through the old wooden window frames.

 

A loud ringing abruptly broke the silence of the room as Emma awoke to shards of sunlight beaming through the gaps in the curtains. Throwing an arm over her head, she attempted to block out the intrusion, until finally giving in and grasping aimlessly towards the source of the noise. As fingers closed around the phone on her nightstand, she swiped to answer without bothering to open her eyes and her voice creaked in its morning adjustment. She inwardly groaned as her mother’s overly awake voice bounced across the line. 

Emma had never been one for mornings. She held the phone at arm's length and opened her eyes to squint at the screen, finding the numbers that proclaimed it to be 7am. She let out a small involuntary sigh at being woken so early on her day off as she put the phone back to her ear. Her body she felt was clearly protesting being awoken as she felt a tightness in her chest. She forced herself to sit up to try to alleviate the pain.

“No, Mom.” Emma sighed with a bleary morning confusion. “Why would I have Neal’s teething ring?” 

She was glad that her mother was on the other end of the phone and not infront of her when she couldn’t quite hide the frown of disappointment and slight annoyance that flickered over her features. Of course the conversation would be about something like this.

“No. It’s definitely not here.” Emma confirmed as her mother continued to press the subject, with growing concern. “Mom, I don’t think Neal’s even…” she was cut off in her words to state that her brother had never even been to her apartment, as her mother cut across her.

“It’s my day off. I’m not going to check the station,” Emma retorted distractedly as she raised her free hand to rub a palm across her chest. The pressure there was intensifying, as though nails were scraping through the inside of her ribs. 

“Unless Neal’s suddenly decided to become Sheriff, or I don’t know, run through the streets drunk enough to earn himself a night behind bars, I really don’t think his toys would have ended up in a cell or anywhere else in the station. And until he can control his own limbs enough to at least stand up on his own, I think we can discount the chances of a crime spree.”

Emma could almost hear her mother’s unimpressed look through the phone.

“He’s a baby, Emma,” Snow voiced with sharp but warm exasperation. 

Emma’s mind briefly wondered if the sleepless nights of motherhood had drained her mother’s sense of humour, or if Snow was just more serious than Mary Margaret had been. For a fleeting moment, Emma felt a pang of loss for her best friend, despite the fact that logically she knew she was still right on the other end of the phone, in a way.

“Ok, how about when I’m out later, if I’m near the station, I’ll head in and check?” 

This statement seemed to somewhat appease Snow, who then began regaling Emma with tales of Neal’s teething and how much porridge was currently on his spoon. Emma kept the phone pressed between shoulder and ear, only half listening to the words coming through as she ventured to step out of her bed, grasping her dressing gown and slipping into it with as much grace as the morning would afford. She wandered through into the kitchen, filling the kettle and flicking it on, rummaging through cupboards and drawers for coffee and mug as her mother’s words continued, hazing into a slight blur as Emma lost focus.

Emma hummed her agreement to some unknown statement, giving the customary ‘yeah’s and murmurs to appease her mother, to convince her that she was still at least partially listening, as the conversation slipped into another topic which Emma was only faintly aware of. She lifted the kettle with one hand, moving her mug over on the counter with the other as the phone remained wedged on her shoulder, head pressed down onto it. 

Just as Snow was absently suggesting a dinner together at Granny’s, another stabbing pain shot through Emma’s chest, this time managing to catch her completely off guard. The kettle jerked in her hand as her body jolted, sending a stream of boiling water over her other hand and arm. She dropped the kettle, only just managing to jump backwards, away from the water that splashed outwards, still splattering onto her bare legs. The phone fell from her ear as a pained expletive flew from her lips. Emma clutched her chest with her uninjured hand, desperately trying to regain her breath which seemed to have completely left her body. She could feel herself shaking almost violently, though whether it was due to the pain in her chest or from the various burns now blossoming on her skin, she could not be sure. 

She stumbled backward slightly, fumbling for one of the kitchen chairs, managing to pull one out and sit on it quickly as she could feel her legs shaking unsteadily. She hunched over, hand still on chest, trying to steady her breathing. She could hear her name being called from somewhere distant and it took a few moments for Emma to remember the phone, which lay a few feet away on the floor, a small crack now evident in the corner of the screen. 

Grabbing the phone back to her ear, shudders still running through her body, she was greeted by the panicked tones of Snow, calling her name.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” Emma breathed, trying to abate her mother’s worry “I just dropped the phone. Sorry.” Snow wasn’t convinced by this and pressed Emma on why and whether something had happened and if she was alright. 

Emma couldn’t help feeling warmed by the concern in her mother’s voice, the care she had if Emma was in danger. Physical injury, imminent danger, they brought out Snow’s need to protect her child. It was strangely when Emma felt closest to her, despite the obvious down sides to life threatening situations.

Emma slowly reassured Snow of her safety, choosing to leave out the injuries or pains that had caused her to drop the phone in the first place. There was no need to worry her mother over a few pains. Emma didn’t even know what they were or why, so there was no reason to panic Snow, when she was obviously already overtired dealing with a fussy, teething baby. She briefly considered voicing that she was just in a little pain, but as she did, another wave of pain clutched her her chest. It was like vines crawling inside her ribcage, constricting her lungs, wrapping into the empty spaces. Emma’s breath hitched and she squeezed the phone tighter in an attempt to steady her voice. 

“Mom, I have to go. I need to meet Henry.” She tried to speak calmly, but knew that she’d rushed the words just to be able to get them out. It wasn’t a complete lie, she had indeed made plans to meet Henry for lunch, but Snow didn’t need to know that it wasn’t for another four hours. Placating her mother with a few more assurances that she was in fact fine, Emma could hear Snow accept her pacifications and hanging up the call, Emma finally let her breath shake as it needed to. 

Emma sat silently as the minutes passed by, the pain in her chest slowly resolving to the dull echoing ache that had been the constant for days now. It was barely noticeable in this state, Emma had begun to become so accustomed to it. As her hands began to steady, she finally looked to the scald marks peppering her legs, just small faint red blotches, painful but superficial. Her hand and arm though were still throbbing, the burn a more angry red than on her legs and beginning to blister. 

Summoning her energy, she carried herself to the shower and after turning the water to as cold as she could bear, stepped under the frigid spray. She closed her eyes, letting her uninjured hand hover over the scald on her hand and arm. Concentrating, she tried to heal the burns. When she opened her eyes, the blisters had gone, the pain had subsided and just a faint red mark was left. Emma mentally brushed it off. 

Her magic had been unpredictable lately, almost as though it was weakened. She could still use it, but it was so feeble compared to the strength she was usually able to wield. Convincing herself it was merely due to the shock of the situation and the fact that she had been woken early and was most likely overtired, Emma repeated the action on the burns to her legs, before turning up the water to a comfortable temperature and relaxing beneath it.

Emerging from the shower almost an hour later, Emma shivered against the cold that lingered in the apartment. She wrapped her dressing gown more tightly around herself and resentfully set to work, facing the mess that had been made in the kitchen. She braved another attempt at making herself coffee, careful to be more alert this time and held her body far away from the hot water in case of another accident. Setting the cup on the table to let it cool slightly before she was willing to drink it, she checked her phone. 

A text from Snow read on the screen. Emma opened the message, rolling her eyes as her mother wrote that she had found Neal’s teething ring and hoped that Emma had a good day. She had added the suggestion of a family dinner together. Emma paused with her fingers over the screen, freezing for a mere second before shaking off the allure and typing back that she had plans, but maybe another time. She felt a small, familiar thread of guilt tug in her stomach, at lying to her mother, avoiding her, but she brushed off the feeling just as quickly. 

Settling herself in front of a stack of paperwork, finally dressed and with her now sufficiently cooled cup of coffee, Emma spent the next few hours catching up on reports. It was dull work and by midday she was glad to be able to leave it to meet her son for lunch. 

Pulling herself into the booth opposite Henry, Emma smiled warmly as he lifted his nose from his book to greet her.  
“Hey Kid, what’s got you so focused?” Emma questioned, nodding toward the book as she commented on his still full mug of hot chocolate that had seemingly been forgotten as his attention was so focused on the words in front of him.

They fell into comfortable chatter about the new stories he was reading, in an attempt to place who people could be if they were to come through from other worlds. They ordered food and began debating which superheros they could defeat in battle if any were to come through into Storybrooke. Emma lost herself in the conversation, both herself and Henry, mindlessly devouring their food in their similar unmannered ways, as they chatted. Emma tried to ignore the mild aches in her chest as she enjoyed her time with her son. 

“So...how’s Violet?” Emma ventured, not lifting her eyes from the last few bites of her food as she feigned nonchalance. At Henry’s slight stutter she raised her eyes to him with a slight grin, looking unfairly smug for Henry’s liking. She enjoyed the blush that crept up his face a little too much.

“She’s fine,” Henry replied, not quite managing to hide the smile that rose unbidden when he spoke about her. “We went out to the lake yesterday, you know Grumpy has a boat?” Henry excitedly began to tell Emma about how Snow and Charming had persuaded Grumpy to let the two teens take the boat onto the lake. Emma smiled as she heard the peaceful excitement leap through his voice. She couldn’t help but be enraptured by her son.

“And Grandpa said we could all go out on it this weekend.” Henry finished with an excitable flourish, looking expectantly at his mother. Emma’s smile dropped, though she instantly tried to hide it from Henry. “You, me, Grandpa, Grandma, even Mom and Violet too maybe?”

“Umm…” Emma desperately foraged through her brain for an excuse, any plans she may have to avoid the situation at all costs. “We’ll see, okay Kid?” She was at a loss. She watched Henry’s expression drop and felt her heart sink instantly.

“Mom, come on,” Henry’s voice was pleading, “We haven’t done anything together since New York. Please?” 

“Kid, I have work and…” Emma was cut off when Henry interrupted her.

“Grandpa said he’d sort it so the station was covered.” When Emma hesitated to reply and still looked unconvinced, Henry’s brow creased in confusion.

“Is this about Hook?” He asked plainly. 

Emma’s eyes snapped to his face in confusion.

“What? Why would…” she trailed off.

“Well, you haven’t been the same since he left,” Henry edged quietly, clearly nervous about approaching the topic. “It’s like you’ve been...not here.” Henry paused to think and Emma’s eyes remained focused on his, with a sad expression of concern and guilt. “And I thought maybe, because it was a boat...maybe that’s why you don’t want to.”

“Henry, no.” Emma stated honestly. “I promise you, this has nothing to do with Killian.” She was surprised that Henry had even thought to bring it up, she hadn’t realised that he’d jump to that conclusion when if she was honest, it hadn’t crossed her mind.

“Then why won’t you come?” Henry pleaded.

“I’ve just got really behind with work, Kid. I kind of promised to help Lily with something too and I can’t go back on that okay?” Emma felt a knot of guilt building up in her abdomen as she lied to her son. She forced herself to keep eye contact with him, as if to prove she was telling the truth.

“With what?” Henry asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowing at Emma, but she could see the little bubble of excitement that he was brewing, hoping that this may be some sort of ‘operation’.

“Henry,” Emma said in a warning tone, but kept the warmth in her eyes as she let herself smile, letting him know that she wasn’t angry with him for asking. “Look, I have to go. I promised I’d drop by the station to pick up Neal’s teething ring they left there.” 

“Can I come to yours for dinner?” Henry asked as Emma stood to leave. He stood with her allowing her to pull him into a firm hug against her chest. 

“No can do. I said I’d go to the loft for dinner tonight.” This time she avoided his eyes as she pulled away and made a hasty retreat out of the door before he could ask to join them. She felt disgusted with herself. The knot of guilt building in her stomach started twisting. She thrust her hands into the pockets of her jacket and strode home.

Henry rushed out of the diner, hoping to catch Emma, to ask her if he could go to the loft for dinner too. When he didn’t see her he dashed a few paces toward the station, but the road there was empty. He turned and saw the red jacket and blonde waves in the slight distance marking a fast pace in the opposite direction. He stood, staring at her back as his mother walked away from him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really enjoying writing this and can promise I have a lot planned. I hope you guys will stick with the story to see the plot unfold!
> 
> And please let me know what you do and don't like. I'd really love to read what you think!

"Emma!" A voice broke Emma's stride as she walked with purpose along Main Street, back to the Sheriff Station.

"Emma!" Emma slowed and squeezed her eyes closed, taking a steadying breath before forcing a smile to her features and turning to face the intrusion.

Snow was calling intently, jogging along with Neal bouncing in his pushchair.

"Hey," Emma smiled innocently as her mother caught up to her.

"I've been trying to call you," Snow chastised, "Is your phone not working?" Snow skipped straight past the niceties as she fixed Emma with a slightly concerned and slightly put out expression.

"Sorry," Emma feigned exasperation, "it's been kind of hit and miss since I dropped it." She shrugged, still avoiding eye contact as much as she could without looking guilty. "What did you need?"

Snow was slightly taken aback by Emma's clear expectation that she wanted something from her. She softened towards her daughter with concern.

"Emma, I don't need anything, I just," she hesitated, not sure what to say. Bridging the gap between herself and Emma was always difficult, no matter how much she longed to be a real mother to Emma, she couldn't shake the awkwardness, the feeling that she just didn't know how to connect, how to make Emma connect in return.

"Why don't you come to Granny's with us?" Snow offered with a gentle smile, hoping Emma would agree. She kept her eyes trained on her daughter, watching her shift uncomfortably under her gaze. It seemed like forever since they had spent any time together. Snow began to realise, she could barely even remember the last time they had been together when some emergency wasn't occurring, her brow creased.

"Already got take out," Emma stated, lifting the bag in her hand for evidence. She felt her muscles ease with relief at having the excuse ready, but couldn't shake the crawling sensation that was clutching at her chest once again.

"Emma, what's going on?" Snow asked bluntly, her head shook sadly as she remained staring at her daughter. Emma stiffened under the scrutiny and she wanted nothing more than to run. She desperately tried to control her breath as she felt fingers of pain twisting around in her chest, pushing away the air and ripping into her nerves.

"What? I already made plans?" Emma was indignant, annoyed and frustrated that she was being questioned, feeling more and more pressured and trapped as she could feel her mother's eyes boring into her.

"No. You are barely here Emma." Snow's tone hardened in accusation.

"You don't talk, you don't spend time with us," Snow continued as Neal began to whimper in his pushchair as he started to notice the cold air around him, the lack of movement and the tension thickening.

Emma could feel her chest tightening, like claws gripping her. She desperately tried to block out the feeling and focus on what was being said, but the words were no less painful.

"Even Henry has been coming over alone, asking when you're coming to see us. Emma, he says he's barely seen you. That's not like you." Snow ended her words on a heavy breath, wishing beyond hope that she could just break past the walls and understand her daughter, understand how to be her mother.

"There's nothing going on." Emma stated blankly, the hostility clear in her voice. "I'm meeting Henry for lunch at the station." She glared at Snow, daring her to try to accuse her of not spending time with Henry. She could feel the pain in her ribcage vibrating more and more violently, like claws squirming and grasping aimlessly within her for something they could not quite reach.

Snow stared unblinkingly at her daughter, not knowing how to break through the vast distance and heavy tension hanging between them. She tried to scan her child's face to discern anything, any emotion, but it was a blank slate. Emma was so adept at building her walls around her, pushing down any pain or truth behind the masked exterior.

The pair stood in their awkward stalemate for just seconds that felt like hours, both too strong and too stubborn to break first. Neither had quite realised just how far they had drifted and how frayed and damaged their fragile connection had become.

Neal's cries began in earnest as the chilled air nipped more ferociously at his nose and ears.

"I have to go," Emma's voice broke the silence between the pair in a cold snap, "Henry's waiting." She gave a smile to her mother, still hoping to convince her that everything was fine, to mollify her. The pain ripped more roughly through her chest and she inhaled sharply. She turned away quickly, hoping that the action had gone unnoticed.

Snow seemed distracted by Neal, rocking the pushchair back and forth in a fruitless attempt to settle him. Comforted by the fact that her pain was unseen, unknown, Emma walked away, turning back to give a brief wave over her shoulder before she let her face fall and her hands move once again to her chest.

"Emma." Snow called uselessly to her daughter's retreating back as she lifted her view from Neal's fussing. She slowly sighed and turned the pushchair toward Granny's, still not taking her eyes off her daughter as they both walked away from one another.

The pain was becoming unbearable. Emma felt her legs wobble unsteadily beneath her and sped her pace to remove herself from her mother's view as quickly as possible before she could let herself stop and rest to catch herself. The fear was beginning to creep in. Whatever was happening, whatever was causing the pain, she could no longer ignore it. She had brushed it off, assumed or convinced herself it was just being run down, the months of being the saviour just catching up with her body. But no matter how much she tried to let herself rest or recover, the pain was only getting worse, becoming more frequent, more severe.

As soon as she rounded the corner and found herself alone, Emma allowed herself to slump over a nearby wall and catch her breath, letting the structure support her weight as she felt dizziness flow over her.

She stayed hunched, breathing through the pain until her vision began to swim back into focus. Testing her legs gingerly, she took a few cautious steps to a nearby bench. Allowing herself to sit, she wrapped her arms around herself and looked at the empty street either side of her. Restraining herself from rolling her eyes at her own predicament, she began to accept that something wasn't right. She didn't want to admit it, but she knew what she was feeling in her chest, she'd felt it before. She pushed the thoughts out of her mind for now, gathering her strength to make it through lunch with Henry, a lunch she was already late for. Once she could get through that, then she could focus on fixing whatever was happening to her and finding whoever was responsible.

"Sorry I'm late!" Emma called out as she rushed into the Sheriff station, looking around for signs of her son. She smirked, dropping her bag onto the desk as she caught sight of him lying on his back on the bed in one of the open cells, earphones firmly in place and book held above his head, that he was clearly engrossed in. She stood, just watching him in awe, sometimes it was still hard to believe that he was really hers, that they really had a life together.

Emma was snapped from her reverie when Henry removed an earphone from his ear and she noticed he was looking at her with a grin. She lifted the paper bag from the desk and waved it in signal that lunch was there. Henry's grin widened and he bounded off the bed towards her to settle on the opposite side of the desk.

Emma's phone buzzed as she started on the second half of her grilled cheese. She paused with it inches from her mouth before choosing to ignore the phone and carry on eating.

"You going to get that?" Henry asked with a raised eyebrow.

"One of those stupid cold callers," Emma shrugged, taking a large bite of her lunch and slouching back in her chair. "They've been calling all morning."

"How do you know?" Henry stuttered, "You haven't even looked at the screen."

Emma squinted at him, giving him an almost sarcastic look, but lifted the phone nonetheless, making sure he couldn't see the screen. She saw her mother's name across the screen and raising her eyebrows to Henry, as though in challenge, pressed the end button, whilst lifting the phone to her ear, feigning answering the call. She faked conversation briefly before purposefully acting an end to the call.

"See, just a cold caller." She repeated to Henry as she set the phone back on the desk. She was glad when Henry seemed to accept her act without question.

"I almost forgot," Henry piped up as the two settled back into their lunch, "I've got pictures." He gave Emma an excited look as he began rummaging in his backpack beside him. In answer to her questioning look, he continued, "from the boat trip a couple of weeks ago. I said I'd show you."

"Oh, right." Emma laughed, finally understanding. He passed his camera over to his mother and carried on shovelling up his food as he expectantly watched her look over the pictures.

"That's me sailing," Henry voiced proudly as Emma looked at the picture of her son stood confidently at the wheel of the boat, her father stood a little way behind him. She smiled as she flipped through the different photographs, Henry and Snow, Henry and Neal, Snow and Charming, Henry and Regina. Emma laughed at a particularly unfocused picture of Snow glaring angrily at something just out of shot, the only clue to her anger was the arm in the corner of the photo.

"That's just before Mom poofed herself out," Henry sighed with a knowing smile. "She said she had work to do, but I think she'd just had enough of Grandpa and Gram's baby voices to Neal."

Emma laughed softly and carried on flipping through the pictures, but she was no longer really seeing them. A sombre expression flickered in her eyes.

"You can come next time, right?" Henry encouraged, seeing the brief sorrow glazing over his mother, "Grandpa said we could go again soon."

"Of course," Emma smiled, without any real conviction.

"There's videos too," Henry exclaimed as the thought popped into his mind. He grabbed the camera back to find what he was looking for and passed it back to Emma when his phone started to ring. He looked embarrassed for a second and Emma noticed the name flashing on the screen. She smirked at Henry's nerves.

"Go," she laughed, nodding her head toward the door and watching the relief on Henry's face as he rushed out with his phone, to speak to Violet in private.

"I'll be right back," he called from halfway out of the building.

Emma allowed herself a chuckle at how teenage her son had become and holding the last corner of her grilled cheese in her hand, she pressed play on the video on Henry's camera.

She watched the small screen as Henry stood at the boat's helm, gripping the wheel with one hand, and holding a smiling Neal in the other arm. The sound of David's laughter burst through the speaker as he filmed the touching scene. Emma watched for a few seconds, enjoying the sight of her son's laughter, before she noticed the pair in the background of the shot, sitting together clearly having a very tense and very private conversation. She saw Snow's eyes narrow defensively as Regina leaned toward her to speak something in a hushed voice, pointing accusingly at her.

Emma rewound the short clip and focused her attention on the two women. It was obvious they were so engrossed in their argument that they hadn't noticed the camera. They were too far away for the camera to pick up much, just the vague sound of hushed but angry tones. Only a few words carrying clear enough for the microphone to catch. Most was pointless, just vague "you" and "when" and then Emma caught her name. Rewinding the clip once more, she watched their lips. She wasn't exactly adept at lip reading, but it was clear enough to pick up her name at least twice, even if she could tell nothing else.

Emma shut off the camera angrily, slamming it onto the desk a little harder than she had intended. Whatever had caused their argument was unclear, but the one thing that was clear was that the conversation was unpleasant and it was about her. She couldn't help the feeling of violation that swept over her. She felt a little betrayed and exposed. Were they both complaining about her? Were they laying blame on each other for something she was or had done? The familiar nails began to pulse into Emma's chest and this time, accompanying it she felt a wave of anger and a prickle of tears threatening. She tried to block it out, but she just couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal, the feeling that she was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> So...what was the fight about?
> 
> Will Henry find out how much Emma is lying to him and how will he react?
> 
> And will Emma work out what's happening to her?!
> 
> Please review and let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if anyone is reading this. If you are, please let me know what you think?

Opening the door to the library, Emma breathed a sigh of relief, finding it thankfully empty. She had trodden her path swiftly and silently from her apartment, choosing her timing carefully as to encounter as few people as possible. Stepping into the building and letting the door close behind her, shutting out the fresh chill of the autumn air, Emma glanced around the laden shelves, suddenly at a loss for where to begin.

She had made the decision the previous night, when waves of stabbing pains had plagued her restless sleep. She couldn’t ignore the symptoms any longer. She knew deep down something was wrong and it seemed only to be getting worse.

The pains had been there for months, far longer than Emma had chosen to acknowledge. And though Emma frequently convinced herself that her grease laden diet and over exertion from chasing down whatever was the latest threat to grace the small town was to blame, the pains grew harder and harder to ignore. 

It had started as a dull ache, something she only noticed in passing, perhaps once every few days. But that minimal impact had not lasted long. Soon there had been spells of pain so intense that she could barely move, struggled to even take breath. And those episodes had only become more frequent. In the past few weeks she had been lucky to go a day without more than one wave of trauma.

It had been a stark realisation as Emma had clutched her chest once again in the crippling agony, that something could be seriously wrong. Unable to decipher in her mind whether the cause seemed more likely to be natural or magical, she had resigned herself to set out on some research as soon as the morning broke.

There was no chance she would go to Doctor Whale. She had less than a small amount of trust in the man, not helped by his one night stand with her mother, nor the revelation that he was, in some life, Doctor Frankenstein himself.

Emma felt no desire to entrust herself to anyone in the town. It seemed like a weakness that she just could not afford, to let any of the residents that close to any form of vulnerability.

So instead she found herself walking up and down the rows of books, glancing here and there between the stacks, trying to decide whether she should be searching for medical dictionaries or scanning the pages of magical tomes.

She ran her finger absentmindedly over the spine of a book, lifting it from the shelf and opening it where she stood, to flip sightlessly through it. Picking up an armful of books from the shelf, she piled them onto a table in the corner, moving through different sections of the library and repeating the process several times over. 

She soon found herself lost in the pages, oblivious to the world around her as her mind whirled in action, allowing herself for the first time to feel the panic rising inside her. The loss of control over her own body terrified her. She felt weak, diminished somehow. How could she even be the saviour, the one thing she was wanted for, if her own body was betraying her?

“Don’t tell me there’s another crisis.”

Emma’s head snapped up so suddenly as the voice broke through her silent study that she felt her neck twinge. Embarrassedly she felt her hand sweep up to press onto the ache as she looked up to Belle standing just feet away beside her table. She had been so consumed in her reading that she hadn’t heard the other woman approach. She noted the edge of sarcasm in Belle’s smile and raised eyebrows and gave her a weak but genuine smile in return, shaking her head.

“No,” Emma pressed her hands down on the open book in front of her, pushing herself back to stretch on braced arms, “Storybrooke is as safe as...well as it can ever be.” She spoke warmly to Belle and tried to keep the weariness from her voice. “Well...unless you count Pongo’s latest bid for freedom as a threat.”

Emma breathed out a half hearted laugh and Belle gave a humoured nod.

“Still, it looks like you’re searching pretty hard for something?” Belle moved closer and Emma laid her arms on the surface, trying covertly to cover the titles of books scattered before her.

“No, just,” Emma swallowed thickly as she formed her excuse, “good place to get some reading done for work, Town stuff. Peace and quiet to work, you know, no-one ever really comes here.” Emma shrugged.

“Thanks,” Belle voiced blankly, affronted. Emma cringed as she realised she had pretty much insulted one of the things the woman cared for most.

“I didn’t mean…” Emma floundered over her words, “not no-one,” she sighed and resigned herself to honest “I meant my family.”

“Right,” Belle said hesitantly, growing confused and then concerned as Emma seemed to fade a little before her eyes. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Emma forced herself to a breeze tone, “there’s just only so much you can hear about diaper rash and teething gel. And that’s without the nursery rhymes that get stuck in my head for the rest of the day.” Emma attempted humour before she realised the way Belle’s hands had been cradled over her growing stomach during the whole conversation and once again realised that she had put her foot in it. “Not that babies aren’t great and everything,” she finished stupidly, trying to brush past her faux pas. But Belle just laughed.

“You’re safe,” Belle reassured her, “this can be your diaper free zone, at least for another few months, then you’re out of luck.”

Emma gave a grateful smile and Belle took this as a cue to pull up a chair to sit across the table.

“So what are you really looking for?” Belle asked. Emma opened her mouth, about to reaffirm that it was nothing but boring town business when Belle continued, lifting one of the books from the table as she spoke, “because I doubt you’ll find much Town information in a book about lung disease.” She gave Emma a knowing and almost reproving glare.

Emma stammered over excused for a while, but Belle’s soft yet strong presence and tone eroded away at her slowly until she gave in. 

“I’ve been having pains,” Emma conceded, “it’s stupid really. After fighting ogres and witches snow queens and well, everything, it’s probably just strained muscles or something else equally boring.”

“But?” Belle pressed further, knowing there was more. She watched Emma’s eyes reluctantly meet hers.

“I can’t heal myself,” she admitted weakly. She had barely let herself think about that one ominous fact and had no idea why she was choosing to announce it now and to Belle, someone she not only rarely had any interaction with, but was also so closely linked to Gold, who no doubt would be able to find use for any sign of vulnerability in the saviour.

“I should be able to heal myself, I’ve done it before and for worse things,” Emma was beginning to ramble.

“Maybe your body’s just tired?” Belle suggested, though something behind her eyes belied her words, “you know, magic drains you, so if you’re feeling unwell because you’re already exhausted, then, maybe you just don’t have the energy to summon the magic?” Belle trailed off, not even really convinced herself.

“I just thought I’d check some possibilities,” Emma’s guard was beginning to rise again as her own confidence waned.

“And you don’t want to go to Whale.” It was more a statement than a question.

“I think I can do without the flat head and bolts through my neck,” Emma joked. Belle’s brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Never mind,” Emma voiced at Belle’s lack of comprehension. She shook her head, looking to her lap.

“Well I don’t know anything about flat heads,” Belle took a deep breath, “but I do know that when it comes to research, two heads are better than one. I’ll get us some coffee, you look like you could use it.”

Emma looked up, ready to decline, but Belle fixed her with a determined stare and wordlessly stood to get the drinks.

Three hours later, two coffees drained, both women sat in comfortable silence, pouring over their respective publications. Belle had chosen to cover the medical books, whilst Emma took the magical ones, stating that she’d had more than enough dealings with magic with Rumple and would rather stick to biology. Emma held back her smirk and refrained from making the obvious jokes.

With a huff Emma snapped her current book closed loudly and tossing it carelessly aside, moved on to the next. Belle held herself back from reprimanding her for the rough treatment of the item and chose instead to carry on reading, stealing furtive glances at the blonde woman, as she had done all morning. 

There was something about Emma’s appearance, her very being that was bothering her. She noted the dark circles barely hidden under makeup, the tired and drawn appearance that she hadn’t noticed before today. But it was more than that, there was a sombre stillness about the woman that Belle had never seen before, she seemed smaller somehow, and there was something so lost in her eyes. 

“What?” Emma drawled, not lifting her eyes from the page she was studying.

“Nothing,” Belle rushed, cursing herself for clearly being caught in her staring. She focused back on the paragraph she had paused from and switched back to stealing only fleeting and surreptitious looks to the woman beside her.

It wasn’t until much later that Belle chanced speaking again. She had looked across at Emma to find the blonde staring despondently into the middle distance. She steeled herself to keep her words vague and unthreatening.

“There’s something here that could be a possibility,” she began gingerly, keeping her tone casual.

Emma was brought back from her reverie and turned receptively to hear the suggestion.

“It says here that physical pain doesn’t always come from a physical source,” she allowed herself a fleeting glance at Emma to see her brow furrowed. “It says sometimes psychological pressures can manifest in physical symptoms.”

Belle was bracing herself for an angered response, a chance she was offending the woman.

“So, stress or grief or anxiety could all cause you to feel physical pain.” Belle breathed a relief that she had said the words uninterrupted and that so far there had been no sign of outrage from the blonde. When there was no response, Belle braved a look at Emma, realising her downcast eyes had probably given away her guilt.

“And you got all that from the encyclopedia of cardiology?” Emma questioned sarcastically, her eyes narrowed.

Belle had the good sense to look sheepish. She had tried to shield the cover of the book from Emma so it was hidden, but clearly she hadn’t succeeded.

“I’m not any of those things, so I guess we can count that out,” Emma stated bluntly with such a finality that Belle froze for a second, feeling the ice in the other woman’s tone. She almost sounded like Regina, there was something deprecating in the way she had spoken.

“Emma, there’s something wrong,” Belle edged, the disquiet leaking through her voice.

“No. Really. There isn’t.” Emma didn’t bother to look up from the new book she leant over, but the bite to her words stated clearly that Belle wasn’t going to get anything more from her.

“I’ll go and make us some more coffee,” Belle whispered, worrying that she had overstepped some line and hoping that after a few minutes to regroup in respective private, they could go back to the comfortable ease with which they had been working and speaking earlier in the day.

With a mug held in each hand, spreading warmth through her fingers, Belle made her way from the back office into the main room of the library, but looking over to the table they had been working at, she found the chairs empty. She looked around the room, but it too was empty. She sighed as she realised Emma had made her exit.

 

 

Emma’s phone buzzed intrusively for the sixth time that evening. She glared angrily at the screen, knowing what she would find.

She watched the phone, waiting until the ringing ceased and saw yet another voicemail notification spring up. That made two from each her mother, father and Henry. She balled her fist, restraining herself from smashing the device against the wall and just allowing herself some semblance of peace. But she didn’t even switch it off. 

She knew she had to be available if there was an emergency. She was the saviour. If there was a threat to the town, to the people, she knew she would be expected to act, to risk her life to protect them. So she would have to put herself aside and know that it was just her duty to forgo being Emma, and just be their faceless saviour, at their beck and call, should the need arise. 

She could almost smile at the irony, in her desperation to avoid any contact with her family, she was plagued by their incessant intrusions. And yet, if she was honest with herself, it had been weeks, perhaps months when they hadn’t cared to contact her at all, unless there was some emergency, or something they needed from her. 

That was the strange little dynamic the family had seemed to find, Emma knew her parents would always want her, if there was something they needed her to do; but when there wasn’t, then her parents had been notable only by their absence. It hurt. Almost more than she could bear. With their perfect son and their own marriage and respective work, they had become more and more distant. 

First the family dinners had waned, be it due to work or baby Neal’s unsettled sleep. Then the calls had stopped. When she would check her phone after a long shift patrolling the town, Emma would find nothing, no missed calls, no texts, no concern, no acknowledgement that she even existed. She had faded from their thoughts and their lives. And yet now, now when she actively accepted that fact, she could feel them bearing down on her and it was just too much.

Emma leaned heavily on the kitchen counter, palms flat against the cold surface, grounding her. The apartment was once again shrouded in a greyed darkness. As Emma stood alone, she stared blindly at the tumbler of whiskey set between her hands. Raising a shaky and clammy palm, she swept her hair roughly off her face, irritated by the sensation of it, and in a flash, grabbed the glass and knocked back the drink in one fluid motion.

Setting the glass heavily back on the counter she exhaled audibly and pulled the open bottle toward her, pouring another decent measure into the glass and bringing it to her lips, swallowing without thought, eyes closing as the liquid burned her throat. 

She repeated the motion, filling her glass, each time a little higher, swallowing and setting her palms flat against the cool granite of the counter, letting it take her weight a little as she tried to drown out the feelings crawling within her. 

It had been almost two weeks since her run in with her mother outside Granny’s. She hadn’t set eyes on the woman since, careful to avoid any public space that she knew Snow to frequent. It hadn’t been that hard to do. Her past, running away from foster homes, learning to keep out of the way of the more hostile family members had set her in good stead for her aim. 

It had been easy enough to switch her shifts at the station too, so that she wouldn’t run into her father. He was there less and less with his growing duties as a new parent, so Emma had found it surprisingly simple to manipulate the rotas to avoid even brief meetings in passing. 

It had all been physically so easy, and yet with each action, despite the relief and relative peace it afforded her, there seemed to be a dark edge of panic that set in, a deep ache somewhere in the pit of her stomach that Emma really didn’t want to address.

Emma felt her muscles jump and tense as the loud buzzing once again screamed through the lonely silence of the room. Eyes snapping to the glow of the screen Emma could see her mother’s name once again. Emma’s breath shook and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, her knuckles whitening on the counter. 

She wanted so much to just hear her mother’s voice, to give in and fall apart. But she couldn’t. Emma Swan, as strong and stoic as ever, she held her body rigid, suppressing the longing for contact, for comfort. She tried to let the anger and indignation flow over her but instead she felt a wash of loss and a gaping emptiness as the phone fell silent. 

Slumping to her knees on the wooden floorboards, she felt tears stinging her eyes. Vision blurring through her unshed tears, Emma curled in on herself, letting a solitary teardrop fall onto her cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So...what's going on with Emma?
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this story! I know it's still very early on in the story but I just want to know if people actually like it or are interested in it so that I know whether to continue.
> 
> PLEASE let me know?
> 
> Also, any guesses as to what is going on?


End file.
